The Broken Doll
by candelight
Summary: Forever trapped in a castle, a lonely little ghost kidnaps the turtles and brings them to a dark fantasy with their free wills sealed into dolls! A certain trio must band together to save the tots when Emily doesn't very much want the game to ever end....
1. Emily

The Broken Doll

The Dark

幻影の天使エミリー! 4人の兄弟は不快感の想像の下で引っ張られる!

* * *

Sick at heart and lonely, a little wraith named Emily sealed forever in the ruins a palace-finally cracks. Desperate for companionship, and after seeking four turtles in her looking-glass, the four are ensnared into a dark Wonderland.....as tots! When Emily seals their free will and memory into dolls-it's up to Casey, April, and Splinter to rescue four turtles who can't even recognize them!

And Emily's quite unwilling to let her new "playmates" go. And, in that same desperation, may stoop to.....certain measures to make sure she stays WITH her new "friends".....

Forever.

Even if the three die in the process, so be it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hallo, everyone! ^^ Am trying something new. By the time you read this tale-hopefully, it will be finished. It's probably a little more tactful then

what I'm doing now.....because school does ask for my time too, you know! :D

Please, take care, all. The turtles don't show up for a little bit.

* * *

_Quote:_

_"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the everlasting realization that we're NOT alone."_

* * *

They say Father Time is a cruel thing-just as its mistress, Mother Nature.

Perhaps, perhaps not.

At least, not to the young dweller of this place.

~*~

Father Time-although he did not shine his face on the little dweller, was the only parent the girl had ever known.

There were no stern governesses, and no ladies-in-waiting here.

The court was one that was fairly quiet, seeing as they were not in the habit of opening their mouths, much.

Mainly because, there really wasn't much a court with mouths to move with at all.

The Dining hall-with crystal chandelier, the ballroom-with not a single waltz or tune playing through the marble dance floors, which made odd,

echoing sounds if you happened to run through it, which Emily often did, just for the sake of such an action-but no one had appeared to scold her.

No one to smile and to shake their heads at such actions.

Mother Nature had no place within the white halls. For what weather was to be found, even in the gloomy confines of this heavenly hell?

---

The palace, had, of course-belonged to someone once. Emily liked to pretend that they must've been someone Grand and Important, perhaps

even under the terms of "very."

And why shouldn't they have been? Occasionally, the petite girl with wispy blond/brown hair would sneak-as if there really was any reason for

creeping in, as if someone would march to a corner if she did so-and hurry to the wardrobes found near the four poster beds the little girl, on an

occasional mood, bounced on.

She never knew why. She had been in these halls for as long as she could remember. There were no memories of her ever being smaller then she

was now-nor of a life outside the velvet carpets and fancy footstools.

As long as she could remember, she had simply been _there. _

That, and no one else.

_

* * *

_

Back to the wardrobes, shall we?

Neatly and prim-as if a maid had indeed been there to fuss over them-there were handsome suits, which were alright, in Emily's mind-but aside

from a few glittering buttons, were not really much to look at.

The dresses, however....

It was almost a bit peculiar, seeing as Emily never particulary LIKED to wear dresses, albeit the same dress-shirt she wore as a matter of habit

and the black shorts underneath- But, oversized as they were, they were still quite lovely to try on.

There were trailing silks, in hues of what looked like they had been spun from the rainbow, that made elegant, swishy movements through the air

once you moved them, in a blur of flickering color. That was always fun.

What was even more fun was peeking into the old jewelery boxes that were perched near the large wardrobes-somewhere around fancy make-

up tables where Emily occasionally tried on the blush and rouge hidden in the closets, though she wasn't at all very good at actually putting it on.

No one screamed at her.

And no one told her to wait until she was older.

There were bracelets, bangles, beads-little golden charms on funny things that didn't exactly fit on your wrists, so you had to try for your ankles

instead-rings that flashed in exquisite twinklings, with garnet clasps and rubies that gleamed like rubies thrown into an open flame-

There were emerald penchants, what looked vaguely like a silver locket; it was difficult to tell, seeing as the piece was so enormous-everywhere,

the glint of gold-sapphires looking as if they had been fished from the deepest extent of aquamarine and cobalt waters, pearls glinting in an

almost maelstorm of illumination....!

But none of it seemed of much worth, pretty as they were. After all-there was plenty of trinkets like THOSE here. They didn't matter, much, in the

end.

There was a music box-which played a quiet, tinkling tune with a little ballerina that spun around and around. Emily never tired of watching her

dance-the wind up key was fairly worn from overuse.

The gems were left to silently shine in their boxes shortly after, and Emily had simply returned to doing a favorite activity; exploring the castle.

More then often, even after all these....well, Emily had no idea how much time might've gone on, but she was fairly certain it was a Good Amount-

the little girl would get lost, after floor after floor of racing up and down the marble, red carpeted stairs, occasionally bringing a blanket or pillow

to slide down them.

No one warned her it could've been dangerous.

No one told her to knock off the racket.

Once she got bored of exploring rooms-dining rooms, bedrooms, bathrooms, rooms devoted to sport, sitting rooms, wardrobes, attics, rooms with

no reason or purpose to them whatsoever, what appeared to be boring state rooms, which was, regardless, fun to sit at the head and yell at an

imaginary audience-near flags and shiny, polished wood.

Whenever there really seemed to be nothing left for her to do, Emily usually retreated to the enormous library, which was easy enough to find,

seeing as there were so many ways in.

The ceiling was dotted with stars, and there were enormous telescopes for peering at them. There were squashy armchairs, and-needless to say,

row after hapless shelf, full of books, and ladders that stretched to the ceilings.

Emily usually pulled a good handful or so out before retreating to a favorite chair, somewhere near a fire that was always crackling, for whatever

reason.

She was as messy or as noisy as she wanted to be in the library.

After all, no librarians were ever asking her to hush, or gave her a stern glance.

She mostly talked to herself as she read, however-if merely to hear the sound of a voice in the_ silencesilencesilence_ of this place.

She never wondered why, however.

Same as always.

~*~

Today, once again, she selected _The House at Pooh Corner._ The pages were extremely worn from the many times that Emily had pulled it from the

shelf to browse over-thick, and yellowing. But she paid no real mind. The girl already knew all of the passages by heart.

Occasionally, as she browsed over the familiar words, she wondered how old she was. She did not know; but she liked to pretend it was more or

less the same age of Christopher Robin.

The boy was never alone: There was Pooh, obviously, Piglet, Rabbit, Rabbit's friends and relations, Eeyore, Kanga, and her son Roo. Kanga had

also more or less adopted Tigger, too.

There was a line Emily was so fond of she had found a nearby marker to clumsily highlight it several times.

_"Pooh," said Piglet. "Do you suppose we'll be friends forever?"_

_"My dear Piglet," answered the bear. "I hope to be your friend for much, much longer then that."_

Emily did not have a bedroom-or so she maintained. The girl simply fell asleep anywhere that happened to look comfortable.

So, she dozed off after awhile in the squashy chair, book in her hands, finger still finding a line.

_"......for much, much longer then that."_

_

* * *

_

* ~ * ~ *

No one knows why, after centuries of waking up the same way, Emily woke up some time later (it was impossible to tell whether it morning,

evening, or afternoon; there were no windows) the girl might've woken up differently.

Perhaps it is the book to be blamed.

But Emily had read the same novel, over and over again, in hundreds of different room.

Regardless of the reason, Emily sat up, rubbing at her flickering eyes.

Silence.

The potent sound of _nothing_ had never been so potent to the little girl. Instead of her usual hopscotch step off, she stared at the floor for a few

good minutes before timidly stepping to the carpet.

"Hello?"

Emily had no idea why she said such a thing. There was no one else here.

There never had been. Regardless-from phrases she had learned from books, she had constantly been muttering the foreign phrases under her

breath:

_"Hallo!"_

_"How are you?"_

_"Well, I've been fine, thanks. And you?"_

But there had never been anyone to answer her but herself.

The little girl hesitated, feeling very lost in the library hall-and then began to step out from the door, eyes hopefully flickering to the corners from

the suits of armor.

"Hello?"

Still, no one answered.

"Is anyone there?"

Still nothing. The suits are armor in the halls remained stationary.

Her feet dragged across in the silky outreaches as her voice echoed.

_Is anyone there?_

_Is anyone there?_

Emily stared blankly into the distance before drawing a breath.

"CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?!"

_Can anybody hear me?_

_Can anybody hear me?_

A pause. Emily's yells echoed into the distance, ringing melachonly in the halls.

Her eyes widened.

And, for the first time in years, something crumbled once again.

She was alone.

She was alone, and in the dark.

~*~

_Whew! Yes, Emily is slightly up the wall-seeing as it's been so long since the poor thing had been walled in here._ _If not necessarily crazy now, well....._

_No mention of the turtles just yet. I hope you liked this segment!_

* * *


	2. Dolls and Mirrors

The Broken Doll

Dolls and Mirrors

幻影の天使エミリー! 4人の兄弟は不快感の想像の下で引っ張られる!

* * *

Sick at heart and lonely, a little wraith named Emily sealed forever in the ruins a palace-finally cracks. Desperate for companionship, and after seeking four turtles in her looking-glass, the four are ensnared into a dark Wonderland.....as tots! When Emily seals their free will and memory into dolls-it's up to Casey, April, and Splinter to rescue four turtles who can't even recognize them!

And Emily's quite unwilling to let her new "playmates" go. And, in that same desperation, may stoop to.....certain measures to make sure she stays WITH her new "friends".....

Forever.

Even if the three die in the process, so be it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hello, everyone! Hoping you are well-please take care.

I do not own the TMNT. And it's quite lucky I don't-the series wouldn't be half as good under my protocol.

* * *

Quote: _"Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child's loss of a doll and a king's loss of a crown are events of the same size."_

_

* * *

_

_Where was everyone?_

_Who was everyone?_

Shrieking, Emily dashed down the steps, six year old frozen body streaking towards the Dining Hall, and throwing the heavy doors open.

"HELLO?"

No answer. Emily shuddered, then stepped into the Great Hall.

Why wasn't anyone here?

Why wasn't anyone making a sound?

She hesitated....and her eyes began to brim with tears as she bit her lip.

Without another word, she tore into the hall, seized a glass goblet, and sent it with a crash to the floor.

Sullenly watching the piece shatter into a million pieces, she fled from the room, bolting for the endless spiral staircase as she did so.

~*~

_Memories were beginning to flood in._

_She had, once-thrown another tantrum like this once._

_Or twice._

_Or three times......_

_And, every time, the crawling franticness had overhwhelmed her heart to the point she had completely blacked it out to the point of denying anything of_

_the sort altogether._

_There was still nothing, even as she flooded down the hallways._

_"Please-oof!"_

Emily staggered, tripped, and fell onto the ground. Wincing, feeling her palms sting slightly, she got up once again, stumbling down the steps.

Still alone.

* * *

When the girl was finally forced to wearily sink down to the ground once again, Emily stared blankly at her hands.

......

....fine.

She stood, quivering slightly, and made her way back up the steps, blue eyes beginning to frost over.

The girl couldn't keep wandering for a voice that was never going to come. If she wanted company-it would be a bit of a journey, seeing as the

rooms changed so often, depending on her mood that day-she would have to go to "that room," again.

Whichever.

Anything that would prevent a mass hysteria from her own mind again.

~*~

Finally, Emily's alabaster hand wearily closed over the doorknob of the selected chamber.

The castle did indeed, alter itself when she did a few....adjustments to the portraits in "that room." Maybe a few rearrangements on the rooms

would cheer her up. It would be interesting, at the very least.

Alongside the portraits, there was something else-connected only by a smaller door to the side of the room.

Her dolls. All of them. And an extravagant hall of mirrors.

Yes. That sounded about right.

* * *

Hundreds of thousands of her own face filled the room as she quietly stepped in, arms clasped around a little, brightly smiling doll with a china tea

cup for a moment or so. A smile flashed onto Emily's face, but it just as quickly faded away, to her surprise.

Normally, this always cheered her up.

A moment went by....

....and another....

......and another.

Emily's hands began to tremble wildly.

The dolls on the shelves behind her neither spoke, nor moved.

~*~

_Smash!_

Porcelain doll after porcelain doll went crashing to the ground, sweetly smiling face greeting the floor again....

And again....

....and again.

Black curls, pink ribbons, red locks, brown braids, gold swirls.....

_Crash!_

Elaborate dresses wasn't enough. Petticoats and sweet smiles _weren't enough!_

Emily let out a howl, and buried her face in her hands, a thousand mirroid Emilys duplicating her movements.

Mirrors weren't enough anymore, either! _It was all just a lie in the end!_

The little girl was....lonely.

Eyes widening with that realization, Emily broke to the floor herself, weeping helplessly, the remaining doll still in her hands.

Only, this one-she began to hug close as she continued her fresh torrent of tears.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Glassy eyes fixated themselves on Emily's shivering frame, glinting with disgust.

A pittance this had to occur again. The little girl was nothing short of ingrateful for what it had provided-and insane.

Still, even when she had been locked behind here to preserve the lost memory of this place....it had known quite clearly that eventually, even if

the brat finally broke down to an ultimum....

The doll started slightly as Emily began to sob barely coherent words:

_"I want out."_

It almost chuckled at the thought. That wasn't for her to decide.

Perhaps....if the little thing had companions of her own....she would shut up. It was certainly preferable to watching her smash the doll's

fellows....though it had been rather amusing, at the very least.

Yes. A companion would be good for her. The world already had a large assortment of missing children-it most likely wouldn't be attributed too

wildly if she used a few...._resources _to get a child or two. Best to find someone around the girl's own age.

But what fun would only one be? Two was the wrong number.....if they had a fight, there was more of a chance two might gain up one....and

three sounded a bit awkward.

Four.

A happy fivesome-and they WOULD be happy, whether they liked it or not. The doll certainly didn't want to start being this wretched girl's

companion.

So, if she was to do what she had to....best to give the girl what she wanted, right?

There was the slightest roll of a pair of green eyes. Emily was still crying wildly.

But, understandably, the girl drew her muffled sobs to astonished gaspings when the doll finally spoke.

"Hello!"

~*~*~

Whew! (Again. ^^) No-the guys aren't going to be available to see until the next chapter. I know it's a little odd to have a doll acting the villain....

....but you'll see soon enough.

Poor Emily! She's so lonely.....(Sniffs......)

* * *


	3. Choosing a Companion

The Broken Doll

Choosing a Companion

幻影の天使エミリー! 4人の兄弟は不快感の想像の下で引っ張られる!

* * *

Sick at heart and lonely, a little wraith named Emily sealed forever in the ruins a palace-finally cracks. Desperate for companionship, and after seeking four turtles in her looking-glass, the four are ensnared into a dark Wonderland.....as tots! When Emily seals their free will and memory into dolls-it's up to Casey, April, and Splinter to rescue four turtles who can't even recognize them!

And Emily's quite unwilling to let her new "playmates" go. And, in that same desperation, may stoop to.....certain measures to make sure she stays WITH her new "friends".....

Forever.

Even if the three die in the process, so be it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bonjour, everyone and anyone. Wishing you well-hope you've liked the story thus far.

I'm still working on The Broken Doll.....am only hoping that I can stay ahead of this game. I feel better with my grades nowadays....

...but I need to stay viligant in my actions.

Am a bit sad today….not quite sure why. I know it's a little fast to break my promise….but then I figured what the heck.

Please, take care, everyone. Have a major exam tomorrow-so wish me luck.

Shout out to my reviewers:

Mikell: Thank you! Yes....Emily is not a happy camper at this point...and who can blame her? D: That was very sweet of your offer to take care of her

for awhile....poor little bean.

xXBrokenWingsForeverXx-Thanks! Would if I could give you the address for a playdate with Emily.....

Please, take care of yourselves, everyone.

* * *

_Quote: The Christian ideal has not been tried and found **wanting**. It has been found difficult and left untried."_

_

* * *

_

Emily froze, breathing ragged in her chest, doll still pressed against her chest.

....oookay.

Had she finally lost it.....yet again?

Someone had answered her.

Slowly, she withdrew the doll slightly, staring at the brightly smiling doll dressed in a silken pinafore and bonnet in her arms.

"Hello!"

It had spoken. The doll had really and truly, spoken.

Heart accelerating like a captive bird, Emily clasped the little doll closer, and drew slightly into the wall of mirrors again.

As she had dreamed for so long, the girl's trembling lips finally moved.

"....hello."

~*~*~

Disgusting. She had forgotten how much she had hated children. Nonetheless, she kept her sparkling eyes and smile demure.

"Hello!" she said cheerily once again, trying to swallow back revulsion as Emily stared at her for a few, brief moments-and then clasped her even

more tightly.

"Do stop crying-and tell me what's wrong, dear."

*~*~*

It was a long tale for Emily to haplessly splurt out, occasionally wiping at red eyes as she did so. The doll smiled faintly as Emily cradled the petite

figure against her shoulder.

Finally, when she had ceased, the doll felt it safe to speak.

"Poor dear," she crooned, awkwardly patting the girl's damp cheek with a cold hand.

"Poor, poor, dearest. I know what ails you, now."

The girl swallowed, and drew to stare at the doll again.

A smile widened, and gestured towards the northeastern mirror-the only circular one in a forest of ovals, squares, and rectangles.

"Sweetheart, why don't you.....do something to make us BOTH feel better? I can give you a gift.....

....one I am quite certain you will like very much."

* * *

The glassy exterior was cool underneath Emily's fingertips. She peered at it thoughtfully, then shook her head slightly as she lowered the glassy

exterior with a frown.

"I don't want a mirror. If you're around, then what else do I need?"

Again, she drew the doll into an embrace, eyes glowing.

To think she had considered dolls useless just moments before....!

But the doll was speaking again.

"....ah. You wish me to be your playmate. Is that it?"

Emily just bobbed her head, drawing a hand at her eyes. The doll's own green eyes flickered.

"But -as lovely as you are, darling.....you certainly don't mean ME! I can....easily be damaged, you know....as you just proved."

Emily glanced at the discarded dolls on the floor with a small frown. The doll had resumed speaking.

"You want someone who may run around with you for as long as you wish. Someone, perhaps....around your own age. A few playmates would be

simply splendid for you.....don't you think?"

The girl swallowed. She was actually listening now.

"W-Well.....y-yes, but how can a m-mirror....give me that, dolly?"

The doll held back a sound of disdain.

"My name is Lydia, darling. And.....how can a mirror aid you? How can it not? We must do a little.....shopping, first, I assure you."

"Shopping?"

The doll's smile widened.

"A drop of blood is all that is needed on the mirror's surface, darling. That is all. You may browse....someplace else for your new playmates."

The girl's eyes widened, and her grip tightened slightly.

"Somewhere else? Where? Will they see me? Will they know who I am? Will they want to play with me?"

Again, a flash from the eyes, but Lydia controlled her tone.

"Anywhere else-No, no, but _yes_ for the last question, darling. Take your pick on whom you'd like as a playmate."

"I can pick more then one?"

"Four, at the very most."

The girl's brown eyes glowed again.

"And....after I pick them?"

"We move to stage two, darling."

"Stage two?"

"We must....make the order. And....a few edits, in case they.....are not your size. And then....shipment."

The girl's cream fists lightly clenched, one arm still protectively encircling Lydia.

And, much to the doll's satisfaction, seized a porcelain shard from the ground, and pressed it slightly against the tip of her finger.

~*~

The drop of crimson had quite literally disappeared into the chilly surface before the flickering began.

And the mirroid vision of Emily and Lydia had vanished quite suddenly as an onyx exterior opened-like that of a hungry cave mouth closing in on

itself.....!

Honey brown hair flickered from behind her body, a small frown on Emily's face.

And the room exploded into light.


	4. New Toys

The Broken Doll

New Toys

幻影の天使エミリー! 4人の兄弟は不快感の想像の下で引っ張られる!

* * *

Sick at heart and lonely, a little wraith named Emily sealed forever in the ruins a palace-finally cracks. Desperate for companionship, and after seeking four turtles in her looking-glass, the four are ensnared into a dark Wonderland.....as tots! When Emily seals their free will and memory into dolls-it's up to Casey, April, and Splinter to rescue four turtles who can't even recognize them!

And Emily's quite unwilling to let her new "playmates" go. And, in that same desperation, may stoop to.....certain measures to make sure she stays WITH her new "friends".....

Forever.

Even if the three die in the process, so be it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hallo, everyone and anyone! Wishing you well-hope you've liked the story thus far.

Please, take care of yourselves, everyone. :D

~*~*~*~

It had taken a moment to achieve proper focus. The girl had winced slightly-but, after the intense brightness had dimmed somewhat and she had

drawn a hand over her eyes, the girl found it easier to properly focus into the flickering mirror's depths, Lydia's head resting against her knee.

"That's it, dear. Now....choose carefully. And speak your location CAREFULLY."

Emily closed her eyes.

Goshdarnit, she had spun the enormous globe in the library thousands of times in lack of anything better to do! Where could she look? What

_country_, even?

The girl thought wildly. On one rather dull day she had browsed through a large book of rather pretty flags, she DID rather like the one with the

snappy red and white stripes.....

The USA-whatever that stood for-was said to be the immigration country. Although Emily had no idea what idea that exactly was-it sounded

friendly.

And there HAD been that book on major cities in the continental US that had been rather nice. But which one? And which state?

Why not with a more....populated zone? Better variety.

Emily leaned towards the mirror slightly.

_"__New York__, __Manhattan__."_

~*~

The girl's heart thudded wildly as she took in the slightly foggy images from the mirror's frame, that was just beginning to adjust-!

---

Emily had only read about this in books.

But the actual thing was nothing short of an eruption of shock for the girl.

Light glinted off a hundred....or a _thousand_ mirrors from a brilliantly shining building that was extending itself proudly to the sky.....

The sky was overflowing into a glittering sea, where an enormous statue with a torch raised to the sky could be found.

Mirror skirting along the edge-catching sight of a few shrieking gulls-Emily swallowed.

And directed the image back towards the city itself.

~*~

There was just SO much-!

And look at all the people! The girl's head hurt alone by just _staring_ at Time's Square!

Emily's throat went dry, staring at hundreds and hundreds of.....

Who to pick? Although Lydia had insisted that no one would reject her-she still felt slightly awkward at the thought of making her selection at

random. Best to find someone interesting to trace.

Emily sighed, plunked her self on the carpet, and leaned over to look into the mirror with interest, chin in her hands as her feet went swishing

back and forth.

This was going to take awhile.....

* * *

The girl rarely got headaches, but after two and a half hours of watching people prattle on their cells, Emily now had a splitting migraine.

She buried her face in her hands and groaned.

_Ugghhh....!_

She tipped the mirror over, face in her hands.

Maybe she started out with too large of a selection. New York was simply too populated in that district. After all, the whole country had a

population of over 307,784,000!

Well....there was always a chance of redirecting it somewhere else. Somewhere like....

Emily's eyes widened in realization as she made a grab for the mirror.

Oops. The mirror! By tilting that far, it must've been spiraled _undergrown_ by this time!

Emily's petite hands seized the frame, shaking her head.

There was no one to look for underneath the city....except maybe a few moles. What fun would that be?

But, instead of dirt, the air had redirected the mirror's focus onto a damp hall. Emily's brow raised.

Better to head upwards for n-

She started, yelping in surprise as her heart began to thud again.

A turtle had wheeled right into her line of focus-about five feet, eleven inches high.

And it was riding on a skateboard.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_"COWABUNGA!"_

A sniff from the turtle with the red mask.

"Mike-dontcha EVER get tired of that?!"

The turtle with the orange mask shrugged indifferently as he pushed his skateboard to full speed, outstripping Don's bicycle and Leo's scooter......

"Okay, then: BONZAI!"

Underneath the NYC streets, a turtle whizzed by, a large, semi goofy grin on his face as he stuck out his tongue at the nearest turtle racing to

catch up, skates whizzing slightly as he roughly grated against the sewer stone, Leo and Don in fast pursuit.

The turtle in blue glanced upwards, frowning slightly over the noise Raph and Mikey were making as they yelled random insults back and forth to

one another.

But the moment had passed, and the turtle in blue let out a whoop as the scooter grinded against the side of the nearby pavement, chuckling

maniacally as the hit forced him into the air.....

...and, with a faint CRASH! landed in front of Mikey and Raph, now in the lead.

The turtle with the violet mask only veered to the right-down a new canal as Raph began to yell indisernable gibberish to Leo as-

_"What's takin' you guys so long?!"_

Don had cut ahead of the fray, laughing as he silently thanked the small shortcuts he and his family had well established in the sewers.

----

The four continued to race, Raph and Don now in a pretty tight race for the front line.

Emily had blinked, drawing her knees to her chest as she continued to stare with bright interest.

Purple-mask turtle could talk. They could ALL speak!

* * *

Emily drew a small smile as purple mask drew himself ahead of what was presumably the finish line with a cheer.

Lydia made a disgusted grunt, but said nothing.

~*~

"For heaven's SAKES, child-aren't you ever going to look for someone else?"

The doll could hardly suppress a snap from where Emily had left her on a nearby pillow. It had taken a lot of work, but the six year old girl had

managed to drag the old mirror frame into a fairly comfy room, albeit with some difficulty.

The girl could never recall hearing another voice before. Now, fixated in hushed wonder, she silently drank it in, occasionally giggling at some of the

funnier things actually spoken by the four.

It was warm, listening to them speak. Laughing was even better. The one in orange did that fairly often. She liked that.

The one in blue was....pretty. She drew her head underneath a pillow to hide a blush, even though it was quite apparent they could not see her.

And-Donny or Don....they could never seem to stick with one name-had nice eyes. They were calmer then the others-and the inquisitive spark

made her peer interestedly at him.

_"Hey-Donny! Go long!"_

No one had ever called her by a nickname.

No one had ever looked at her like that.

And the long opening ache at her heart began to open again, if not only slightly.

* * *

_She had never been exactly sure why-but her first memory was not of that of a mother or father's face....nor anyone else's._

_The first thing the girl could remember was waking up, not born, not created...._

_Just there._

_And blank._

_Absolutely and positively, blank.  
_

~*~*~*~

_Aimlessly, she had wandered without purpose until her body's exhaustion forced her to instinctively curl herself into a small ball onto a carpet._

_If she had been indeed waiting for something, it had not come._

_The little girl had simply slept-for what felt like a fairly long time-before eyelids flickered open and she stumbled up, feeling a sort of stiffness in her_

_joints before staggering on._

* * *

Everything was empty.

Everything had been nothing short of hollow data-and, while she couldn't bring herself to feel frightened-or anything at all, for quite some time

until likes and dislikes began to slowly form, and a small sense of personality from the many books she had clumsily pulled from the shelves-

....the meaningless had always been there-even in the scope of the endless retinue of daily activity she had been in.

More then often-the girl had simply cried, even doing something so casual as sliding down the steps or peering around new corridors.

Nothing stayed the same. And while she knew pitching a fit was as empty and pointless as the day was long-and that it was almost impossible

for her to actually begin one in the first place-she shut herself up in closets for hours at a time.

There, it was dark.

But nothing changed.

And, although that could never be described as particularly helpful-even when the girl felt like screaming from the knowledge that nothing ever DID

for her lifestyle-if she truly lead one....there were the only the smallest comforts to cling to.

_And now, even though the voices were not addressing her, the small vibrations of other life forms were like a chorus of singing angels, in short._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour went by.

And another....

...and another. Finally, when Emily did speak, her voice was already beginning to quiver.

"Them. I choose them."

Lydia cast the little girl a puzzled look.

"....I....beg pardon, sweetheart?" she asked slowly, praying Emily wasn't saying what her porcelain ears had heard.

The little girl shook her head.

"I want them," she insisted, brown orbs poring into the glassy exterior, expression hungry.

"I want _them_-those guys. The turtles. Whatever they're called to be my friends. If they don't, that is....."

Emily bit her lip. The thought of the four rejecting her offer to play was extraordinarily painful.

Turtles? Walking, talking, reptilian _freaks? _Lydia had agreed to get the girl a _playmate_-not a pet! Her stomach reeled as her eyes narrowed.

It wasn't fair. Here, she had given a perfectly generous offer-_far_ too generous-and she chose these things?"

Adopting a honey tone, the doll tried again, tone honey smooth into a balm.

"Darling.....surely you don't want_ those_. They're in the _sewers_-do you even know what the sewers are?" Lydia wrinkled her nose.

"Nothing more then the scum of the earth. It's sickening, filthy-and these four look far too-"

_"I want them!"_

Lydia started into surprise. The girl's voice had risen into a scream, and she was glaring into the mirror, fists tightly clenched, lip set into a bitten

pout.

"Please....I don't **want** anyone else! I don't **NEED** anyone else! I want the turtles to be my playmates!** I WANT TO SEE THEM!"**

The tears were streaming down her face, and Emily began pounding her fists into the ground...near a doll's dislodged eye. Lydia gulped in

response.

"Yes...yes, alright, dea-"

Emily continued to ramble. To her shock-it felt rather good. She had never particularly wanted anything before-and her screaming fits always

resounded in desperation-never for a material object.

...or live soul.

"Y-You don't u-understand, I-I-"

_"Enough."_

For a moment, the doll's tone was neither very kind, nor very sweet. Berating herself for the slip, Lydia soon recovered, and spoke once again,

tone driven into a soft caress.

"I only wish to make sure, my little pet. They are a little old to be your playmates-are they not?"

Emily's face rose to a flush.

"I don't-"

"Yes, yes." Lydia sounded impatient once again. "You don't care-I accept that. But we might as well....get a little more out of our dollar for them,

shall we?"

The girl simply glared suspiciously at the doll-as if afraid the porcelain would once again attempt to deny her demand, but she had fallen silent.

"We will simply make....a modification or two-that's all. They should be more..._suited_, for you. Once they are the right size, we can invest our order,

as it were."

The doll's face became abruptly serious.

"You are quite certain, then. Will you or won't you look at another child-anyone else?"

But the girl shook her head. Lydia drew a sigh.

"Very well, dear....very well. I take it that, you still know how to sew?"

Emily gave her a puzzled look, rubbing at red eyes.

"Just a little. Only basic stitches-I haven't taught myself to do embroidery just yet. But why ask that?"

The doll's smile only widened.

"Oh, no reason. I would just....recommend, that, if we were to place an order for these four soon.....then we ought to greet them properly with a...

..gift, perhaps."


	5. Little Plushies: Emily's Story

The Broken Doll

Little Plushies

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hello again, everybody! If I ever write about an OC girl in TMNT...she does seem a little unhappy...D:

I always give them happy endings, but they remind me of how much I truly have in my life.

(Goes into corner and cries.)

This chapter covers Emily's past....as well as why how she came to the castle in the first place. The next chapters are going

to be all turtle-centric....but before the insanity can begin,

Please....take care, everyone. I do not own the TMNT....and I have never read or watched Jurassic Park.

* * *

Quote:

_When death, like a thief  
Comes to steal what I love  
I will still look to the heavens  
I will still seek Your face_

_While we wait for rescue  
With our eyes tightly shut  
Face to the ground, using our hands  
To cover the fatal cut_

_Though the pain is an ocean  
Tossing us around, around, around  
You have calmed greater waters  
Higher mountains have come down_

~~*~~

* * *

Placing a silver thimble over her fingertips to protect them from the needle, the little girl frantically resumed her stitching on the little plushie's

foot....

...which now looked rather like another left foot, but she supposed it would be alright.

In the darkness of the chamber, Emily quietly labored, drawing a bit more cotton stuffing into the head of the third doll as Lydia watched.

Anything to drown out these nasty thoughts....

It had happened.

While she had been cutting the material for the second doll....it had happened.....

~*~

_To be quite honest-and rather cliche-once upon a time, there had been a little girl._

_But....no, no.....that won't really do at all, now will it?_

________  
_

_For this was not some time ago....and no ordinary little girl at all.  
_

_This was a tale about Emily....who once lived in a town, quite some time ago, that does not exist._

_At least, not anymore._

_~*~_

_The year had been 1889, during the rule of Queen Victoria. Emily was just six years old at the time.....and an only child to the Fortunatos._

_Their chateau was upon a large hill, overlooking a sector of the nearby woods and town below. It was of elegant build and stylization in arch, for modern _

_architecture was beginning to elaborate itself in full gusto-for everyone knew the "grandmother of Europe" was a patron of the arts._

_~*~  
_

_Her Father had been a wealthy curator._

_Her Mother-a wealthy patron of the London opera. Emily would sometimes peer through the bars of the staircase to see the woman sweep out of sight for_

_the evening, outfitted in fine silk damask, and a whiff of perfume that slightly reminded the girl of oily flowers._

_She had everything a child could want. Toys littered her nursery floor, and boxes were neatly filled with the bright wood and plastic._

_And, the act of having a roof over her head and a full stomach after each meal in such wild times was nothing short, of what she was told, a blessing._

_~*~_

_There was, however, one problem._

_Mummy and Daddy generally did not spend much time in the house at all._

_And it really wasn't that so much-though she did miss them rather awfully. At the time, it had been common to hand a child over to a nurse or a _

_governess-nothing unique, really._

_It was the fact that the girl was paid as much attention as one of the unfurbished rooms._

_None at all. Simply there to be there._

_~*~_

_The toys, for the most part, remained untouched. The servants were never particularly in the mood to play, and complained that Emily was underfoot far _

_too often. _

_There was playing about in the gardens for awhile-and while this was amusing, it did get boring after awhile._

_Her nurse was never a very vibrant woman-and was never around more then was strictly necessary. _

_Therefore, Emily had not grown up with bedtime stories-or anyone insisting that the shadows stretching across her wardrobe were nothing BUT _

_shadows-and not something fighting tooth and nail to tear the place apart in the dark.  
_

_It was....scary. _

_And there was no one to praise her for her drawings-or place to clip them to, for the little girl drew often._

_But, most importantly, there was no one for Emily to love. Her plush toys only did so much.....and could not love her in turn. _

_~*~_

_The guilt made everything worse. For what right had she to want more?_

_When so many had so little-and she had so much...._

_Was she asking for it? Was that it?_

_Was she....spoiled?_

_That was a terrible thought. What if Mummy and Daddy saw her as such-?!_

_~*~*~*_

_Her deamoner was a pleasant one, on the most part. She tried harder._

_And, when that didn't work, she hoped at least-when she accidentally knocked over a vase, she'd perhaps get a good scolding._

_But no such luck. The maids had simply cleaned it up-and continued to sweep._

_~*~_

_It had been one fairly ordinary night when it had all began. Emily had peering through the window, watching a few automobile lights glitter from the town _

_below. Mummy and Daddy had gone out to celebrate their anniversary, or so she could understand from the servants' talk._

_Her small knees perched on a small toy chest, her gaze turned to that of the twinkling stars._

_They were always nice to watch-and she had always kept her eyes open for a falling streak of silver sparks to make a wish._

_Tonight, there didn't seem to be any, but she wished anyways, pressing her palms against the cool glass, little nails drawing into her palms._

_She knew all too well what she wanted._

* * *

_She had hopped down from the toy box, and reached for a bucket of chalks, crayons, and pencils, along with a sheik of paper._

_Mind made up into a resolution, the child had begun to draw._

_~*~*~_

_When she had lowered her crayon, she had smiled at the little creature that greeted her._

_Albeit a bit odd-and somewhat crooked, the furry, fuzzy, red eyed creature stared dully back at the little girl._

_He was cute. She rather liked him._

_But why wasn't he there to play with her?_

_Emily began to elaborate the winged little monster's features, scowling in concentration as she did so._

* * *

_Her hands were aching like crazy as she wearily lowered it, and curled up into a small ball on the floor with a shuddering sigh._

_Maybe after....a small nap...._

_______

_When Emily had awoke, she'd rubbed at her eyes, and reached for her pencils again._

_Only this time, she grabbed her favorite. There had been a pretty rock found in the morning chip pile some days ago for the chefs to begin heating the _

_morning meal pots._

_The rock had a lovely violet sheen....and cut into tiny faucets that caught the light whenever you held it up to a small candle or the sunlight. Emily_

_HAD been ready to hang it up by the window....but she liked the thought of having her pencil sending little rainbow glints about the room as she worked by _

_the nursery windows far too much. Not that she ever tried, yet-but the thought of doing it by moonlight was just as appealing._

_Somewhat awkwardly, she'd tied the little gem around her pencil with the help of an old spool of red thread._

_And, after tracing the fuzzy little creature in that selfsame pencil...._

* * *

_She'd thought she'd died when the thing ripped itself free of the papers._

_Died-but gone to heaven._

_She named her new companion Mr. Frufo-which sounded right to the little girl-and begun her own siege of creating playmates._

_Who, had all vanished within a few hours._

_~*~_

_Maybe it was how she had created Frufo. Perhaps it had been the rock itself._

_But she had not really cared-so euphoric had she been at the thought of a friend._

_Mr. Frufo could not speak-but he did whatever Emily asked him to._

_And....while this had been indeed jolly fun for awhile...._

* * *

_She had someone to sit next to in the darkness._

_The two drew. _

_There were pillow forts to create-and explorations to be done, using the end of a roll to create a telescope._

_The bed had become a proclaimed pirate ship....and there were picture books to pull out and read._

_There was someone beside her to blow bubbles._

_He sniffed flowers if she handed them to him._

_She had been able to hold his little hand....._

_.....and she had watched him flutter about the bedroom in lack of anything better to do._

_Outside, there was skipping rope....swimming, playing about the many tennis courts.....!_

_~*~_

_But while Mr. Frufo did whatever she would timidly ask-it was not the same._

_He never offered anything. _

_He was, as she soon discovered...._

_...empty of anything at all. He was only her friend out of lack of anything better to do._

_And, though she loved him, and he did whatever he could to please the little girl, he could not love anything in return._

_Including her._

* * *

_It was sad, but Emily tried her best to let well enough alone._

_After all, she'd never had a doll or a toy play with HER before._

_Eleven evenings shortly after Mr. Frufo's birth, there had suddenly been the biggest ruckus from the downstairs parlor as the two were upstairs in the _

_nursery, pretending to flutter off the bed like Peter Pan had done in a new novel her nurse had bought that was really rather popular right now._

_Emily had paused, and bent her head, ducking in between the pillow fort of Hook's ship., Mr. Frufo perching underneath a quilt._

_....?_

_Suddenly, the door had burst open. And a maid who had normally never spoken to the little girl exclaimed, hands clasped at her front:_

_"Oh, Miss Emily! Miss Emily, Miss Emily! Isn't it wonderful?"_

_Emily, quite honestly, didn't have much of a clue of what she was talking about. The maid was raving on once more:_

_"Your mother is going to have a baby! A baby, bless my soul-! And you'll be a big sister soon!"_

_And with that, she had exited, a smile still on her face._

_Silence, save for the sound of Mummy laughing two floors below.

* * *

_

Mr. Frufo had peeked out of the quilts, gazing at the little girl still staring at the doors.

His expression remained blank.

But, quite obviously, he was supposed to give a reaction of some type. Emily, still blinking, slowly turned to face Mr. Frufo, eyes wide.

Feeling that an angry scowl was the most satisfactory result to bring, he had obliged, red eyes boring into her own brown.

Realizing what Mr. Frufo was saying, Emily's own face bore into nothingness.

A tiny frown tugged at her features.

And then a scowl.

~*~

_How dare they?_

_HOW DARE THEY?_

_When she would have given the world-an arm, a leg-ANYTHING for a hug....a kiss on the cheek-and the best she had ever gotten was her father pushing _

_her into the nursery...her mother waving her off to chat on the telephone or to send a telegram..._

_...they thought it lovely to have another child-one they were celebrating about-?_

_She had tried so hard! Was she so stupid and awful and useless....!_

_But she had tried. _

_She behaved-she'd stayed out of the way...she practiced piano and clarinet every day!_

_She HAD!_

~*~

_The priest who'd laughed at her prayers, the children who never asked her to play, the postman who had never brought any letters...._

_....an unborn child that was laughing at her....and parents who continued their own, above their daughter's screams...._

_With a savage scream from her lips, Emily threw herself onto the floor, kicking and shrieking as Mr. Frufo silently watched._

_No one came to rebuke her._

_And no came to tell her to knock it off._

* * *

_As Emily continued her wild shrieks, Mr. Frufo's face became more and more distorted._

_His mission was to please Emily._

_And....if that was indeed what she wanted...._

_~*~_

_ Emily seized a piece of chalk, and began to draw, monster after badly drawn monster, with horns and a scowl and a tendency to yell...._

_And....once she could trace them with the special pencil-with all the horrors that had perched in her closet at the dead of night and-!_

_Her chalk fell from her hand, snapping neatly in two._

_NO!_

_What had she done?_

**_What had she almost done?_**

_Mr. Frufo stared at her._

_The little girl was weeping._

_Perhaps....this what she did NOT want._

_Red eyes flickering, the creature slowly faded into the air._

_Maybe there WAS no pleasing her.

* * *

_

_Emily staggered up, fists pressed over her mouth, eyes wide, as the all too familiar drop of nausea struck her stomach._

_Head spinning, the girl gagged, pressing a pale hand over her chest cavity before the hot rush of bile filled her mouth, and she let herself be violently sick _

_on the carpet.  
_

_And again...._

_....and again._

_Shame was downpouring on her in torrents as she hiccuped, swayed, and let her knees hit the carpet once again._

_Nice people didn't get sick over everything._

_Nice people had friends._

_Nice people did not throw tantrums._

_...and nice people did not nearly destroy the town with an army of apparitions to cause everyone an untimely and horrific demise._

_It was clear. She'd been bad. But even being good would never compensate for it._

_Heart weary, the little girl reached for a fresh sheet of paper, rubbing her eyes as she did so._

_

* * *

_

_The hours went by, one after another-before the breathless girl had withdrawn, rubbing at messy, inky, chalky hands as she did so._

_It had taken quite a bit of paper, and she had to clumsily tape together a great deal of it-but she had done it.  
_

_A house-or a castle-she was not at all sure what it exactly was-had been finished._

_It was crooked, and not at all tidy-but Emily thought it suitable on the whole._

_Room after room, she'd steadily created, occasionally adding the additional tidbit that would make the place seem more interesting._

_There was a large rectangle, full of uneven squares she hoped would pass for books._

_There were several bed chambers, the dining hall....._

_The ballroom....._

_All for one little girl._

_As frightening as the prospect was that Emily would be locking herself in here, she assumed it would serve her right. No one had ever given her _

_a...time-out before in her lifetime. If she had to punish herself, so be it._

_For a very, very long time. Emily wondered how long "forever" would be. That sounded about right._

_She tapped her chalk thoughtfully against her face, leaving a small green smear._

_Still....it would be best to seal her memory away for a long, long, longy-long time. Maybe after a few good years of that, someone would come to play._

_That sounded good. Very good._

_Wiping her eyes, Emily silently lowered her pencil, looking at the new details with a small nod._

_It would have to do._

_Now....Emily had always had her creations pop up. But she needed THIS particular one to pull, not push._

_Maybe if she did an opposite reflex...._

_~*~*~*~*~_

_After concentrating for a good ten minutes, she had managed to recop the wormhole effect._

_With one last glance around her bedroom, and a few tears trickling their way down her face, Emily closed her eyes._

_And leaned her head against the paper, body vanishing in a shower of sparks, dancing before her eyes._

_

* * *

_

Well, seasons came.

Seasons went, as is their wont.

After a few years, searches ceased.

But Emily was not aware. Unaware, her mind taking in how to talk and think once again-she had skipped up the stairs in _La maison de sept illusions._

But there had been breaches in Emily's imperfect drawing...and the occasional loneliness attack had overwhelmed her.

And now, her self proclaimed punishment was coming to an end, and Emily's opportunity had arrived.

She was finally being allowed another voice-for Lydia had somehow shown up-and now...companions.

Companions unlike Mr. Frufo and her other creations....who wouldn't leave.

Would they?

Emily nearly pricked her fingers.

* * *

~*~*~

No.

No....they wouldn't leave her alone too, would they?

But Lydia cared about her. She wasn't at all like Frufo-she offered genuine meaning in her words. Emily was fairly positive that the doll loved her.

And she did love Lydia.

No-fairly positive just wasn't good enough! She had been "fairy positive" that Frufo had loved her, and....

.....and.....

She had nearly done something TERRIBLE.

What if the things had destroyed the entire town....and seriously hurt everyone?

Or worse?

And she'd sealed herself alone in this miserable place to keep her from ever hurting anyone else again.

_But it had been too long....!_

Too long, and too lonely.

Emily could not know death here.....but there was no living in this empty hall either.

Or leaving it.

No one knew her outside.

And there was nowhere for her to go.

Which was why she wanted the turtles.

Why she _needed_ them. Lydia had already told her that the turtles HAD no family other then each other!

And Lydia would not lie to her. She was sure of that.

No family.....and no friends. No one would notice if they....disappeared. And surely, Emily could at least give them a better place to live then the

sewer halls!

The doll had sounded rather revolted at the thought of anything dwelling beneath the streets. She wasn't exactly sure why, seeing as she only knew

very vaguely about what a sewer actually _was_.....but, from what she could see from the mirror, the halls had been dank and dirty.

And Lydia had promised that they would not mind. They could offer things she didn't need to ask for.

Lydia had also promised to....take care of the shipping, handling, and gift wrap. Hopefully, she could get what she called.....speed shipping, though

Emily really didn't have much of a clue on what that really meant.

And...why did she have to make such funny little dolls for them? Did boys LIKE playing with them? She had never been asked to play before....but

she was fairly certain that boys nowadays did things with what they called....action figures, though they had insisted that they were NOT dolls, in

any sense of the world.

And...such funny dolls at that! They wore no dresses.....and they were nothing short of funny little white shapes with a torso, arms, legs, and a

hairless little head.

In short, the plushies looked rather like Pillsbury dough boys without a face or hat. Maybe it was some sort of turtle thing. She was not quite sure

on what kids did nowadays, anyhoo.

She glanced at herself in the mirror-and found an unexpected stab of shyness stab her as she took in her own appearance.

Anxious as she was to meet her new playmates....maybe she ought to change her clothes and take a bath.

....not necessarily in that order, but....

Taking a pair of silver scissors, Emily neatly cut the final thread on the fourth doll, and leaned the little plushies against the wall, admiring her

handiwork.

A bit plain, but nice. Maybe she could find some ribbon in the baskets and make them little belts or tie it around their necks to make a necklace.

That sounded nice.

Emily scurried up, feeling flustered as she turned to the doll still watching her expectantly from a nearby chair.

"Um...I-I'm going to go take a bath now, Lydia." she commented timidly.

The doll's glass eyes met her own.

"Very well, honey. Lovely job on the dolls."

Emily went a ruddy shade-from her face to her fingertips, a small blush formulating on her cheeks as she turned her face away, a small smile

blooming on her face.

No one had ever complimented her work before.

The doll was speaking again:

"Go ahead, darling. I....will get some things.....settled."

Emily blinked large brown eyes.

And, for the first time, she looked a little doubtful towards the small china doll sitting on a velvet cushion.

"Um....I....well...."

The doll shot her a dazzling smile.

"Don't worry your little head about it, _mon cher._ The turtles are coming to see you soon. Very soon."

Emily's heart was fluttering like a captive bird's at this point.

_"Really?!"_

The doll managed a tiny nod.

"Indeed. So shoo, shoo-they will be overjoyed to see you-but you want to greet them looking your best, right?"

Emily flushed again.

"Y-Yes. More then anything."

The doll scrutinized her.

"Then run along-and tidy up, dear."

~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

As Emily scurried away, desperate to find a clean white dress and a new pair of shorts-Lydia exhaled her breath into an exasperated, shuddering

sigh.

_Finally. _She was wondering when the little brat would leave her be.....

......but at last, the doll had peace.

A small smile curved her lips as she unsteadily stood, and faced the nearby mirror.....

~*~

An elegant foot faintly tapped the ground. Lydia glanced at her human form in the mirror-and smiled in approval at the beauty that greeted her in

the glassy exterior.

She hadn't lost her looks. If tending this rather dull castle with such repulsive company as this little witch-at least there were small mercies....as

well as the occasional perk.

* * *

Most unlike the little girl-Lydia was terrified at the thought of death.

But what was more repulsive was _aging. _

_Aging!_

_She shuddered._

**_A filthy, commoner's prospect! She, who had hordes of men flocking after her in her youth-she, whose fault was not at all HERS that her _**

**_family had _**fallen into low establishment-that she could not....

Could not have.....

She slowly shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with a slight sigh.

....no point in dwelling on such matters, now.

Emily wanted pets? Very well....she would deliver the turtles to her.

She certainly would do no such thing herself-which was why she had Emily construct the dolls. It would be easy enough having THEM bring the

little weirdos here....

...and then, edit them slightly. Their memories were a danger to themselves...and Emily. It would simple to make a modification here and there-at

least to shift their personalities just a tiny bit, to suit the little girl to the point where the four did not wish to leave her.

Then again, they never could again once she settled a few...deals here and there.  
====

Lydia done a little....looking up on the turtles through the mirror while Emily had begun her frantic work.

And not just then....

~*~*~

Letting Emily toy around with one of the original thirteen mirrors.....!

Still, it was necessary for her survival. Lydia had accepted that. At least it hadn't shattered under the little girl's clumsy care.

Lydia had thoughtfully tapped her chin with the end of her quill as she began to scribble in her notes again, occasionally pausing to reblot the quill

tip....

The mirror of _etaf _was always willing to help....if you asked properly.

Any and all information on these....things Emily wanted so badly.....

By the end of the evening, Lydia thought she had a fair synopsis of each turtle. Good. She would need her notes later.....

~*~

_Name: Donatello_

_Weight: ?_

_******EYES**: Brown _

_Species: Transmicronditional species of order colonia, family amedaidae (turtle) to transfixed form, sentient, humanoid in abilty_

Lydia had paused for a moment.

Maybe she should just write.....mutant.

_**HOBBIES: **Inventing, Computers, Engineering, Piloting, Mathematics, Science _

Sounded like a little professor....

_Blood type:_

_Almost specific in diameter to a human's, but a fair equivalent to O negative. _

_Family: Father, (See page six) three brothers-(See below.)_

_Born: Uncertain of year-selected a day out of year to celebrate; Feburary Eighth._

_______

_Name: Michelangelo_

_Weight:?_

_**FAVORITE COLOR: **Orange_

_**HOBBIES: **skating, surfing, video games, being amused in general...._

Where and when did a turtle surf in the sewers....?

_**FAVORITE BOOK:**"Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak_

Nice.

_Bloodtype:_

_Uncertain, but equivalent to O positive_.

Born: Uncertain of year-selected a day out of year to celebrate; _April Third._

Name: Raphael

_Weight:?_

_**WEAPON: **Sai _

_**FAVORITE BOOK:** "Jurassic Park" by Michael Crichton ( finds book is better than the movie. ) _

**FAVORITE FOOD:** _cereal_

Lydia drew a puzzled look at that.

_Blood type: Unknown. Hazarding a guess at AB or O._

_Born: Uncertain of year-selected a day out of year to celebrate; July thirteenth. _

And...the last one....

_Name: Leonardo_

**FAVORITE MUSIC: **Traditional Japanese and New Age (for meditation)

**FAVORITE FOOD:** Rice, fish, salads, apples, pizza.

_Eyes: Brown_

_Blood type: Hazarding guess at O._

_Born: Uncertain of year-selected a day out of year to celebrate; Nov. twenty-fourth._

.....and there had been so much more after that.....

* * *

Unfortunately, Lydia had made a discovery.

They, indeed had....family. This could make things difficult.....

An odd thought....the four had a father. Evidently, judging by the similar blood and body signature, the four were all siblings. No higher or lower age-but, to

Lydia's surprise, they'd all been born...._normal._

Evidently, their birth mother died shortly before their birth, from what the mirror scannings had probed free.

And a rat had taken pity on the four after they'd been knocked away down an old sewer grate-wiped them free of the suffocating ooze, and

carried them...or tugged, in an old coffee can-home.

Revolting.

That a_ rat_ of all things would raise four teenage.....turtles.

She had, of course, looked up on Splinter. From what she could see, even the unruly one in orange gave him proper respect and affection.

The older mutant had unnerved her somewhat while he'd been meditating, drawing puzzled eyes in her direction after sniffing the air several

times.....

...but that was impossible. He couldn't tell she was watching-no one could.

But those onyx eyes of his that would sparkle softly.....well....

The important thing was insuring that the rat would not get in the way if the siege was made to take his sons away. Hopefully, he would not react

in panic.

Even if he did....it was most unlikely he could follow between the dimensional rifts, or would care enough to give pursuit.

_How very, very wrong she was._

* * *

Emily shouldn't find out. _Couldn't _find out-about the existence of the nezumi. She wouldn't feel it RIGHT to take them away from a loving parent.

Disgusting.

And, in the meantime, she would have to endure Emily's shrieking and weeping and whining....

....or worse, she would try and pull Splinter into the castle as well for a new plush toy. And she had never liked rats at _all. _Truthfully, animals were

the filth of the earth to the woman.....but, if it meant some peace and quiet again....

Yes, Emily would have to make deal with what she'd get. It would cause some....slight discomfort to the turtles to alter their bodies to chibi form,

but Lydia could certainly live with that.

Impatiently, the woman grasped the plush dolls, grabbing them with stylishly filed nails.

"You know what I seek," she murmured quietly, pinching one of the doll's arms, delicately twisting the small limb between her fingertips.

"Find them....and bring them to me."

And without another word, Lydia threw them through the mirror glass, watching the ripples wildly flicker, then fade out of existence.

~~*~~


	6. Unease

The Broken Doll

Unease

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Hallo, everyone! Hope you're well-hope you like this new chapter.  
_

_Am a little bit sad. Lost one of my chapters for a story of mine....now, I have to rewrite the wretched thing all blasted over again. *Sighs.*_

Digging through the archives in a desperate attempt to reclaim it, (Failed) I nonetheless found this half finished, so I decided to put it in.

Please, take care, everyone.

* * *

~*~

_Quote:_

_"When we are afraid we ought not to occupy ourselves with endeavoring to prove that there is no danger, but in strengthening ourselves to go_

_on in spite of the danger."_

* * *

~*~*~*~

_It's late. _

_Very much so-and, far underground, it's become quite chilly. Luckily for the Hamatos, Donatello's homemade heating and insulation devices worked superbly on their own._

In the city of New York-the villa that NEVER sleeps-four turtles had thought differently that evening. One by one, they had withdrawn to their

rooms, Leo occasionally giving his surroundings a slightly puzzled look.

From the tip of his shell to his toes-there was an odd....tingle in the air. One he was not at all used to. It had been making him feel slightly at

unease for the past few days.

But there was....nothing and no one _there._ Still, it was quite unnerving.

The turtle in blue slightly shook his head with a sigh as he silently passed the tatami doors, careful not to disturb the rat mediating inside.

* * *

A shuddering sigh.

Candles were slowly burning in their already low stubs, hot, watery wax silently beginning to spill over their sides, flames flickering slightly in the dimness of the room.

The Lair was settling for the night-as he knew his sons were. One by one, they had dropped off, mumbling a sleepy good night as they tiptoed

past the tatami dojo where Splinter was meditating.

Splinter's ears flickered from where he sat on the straw mats, a small frown forming on his face.

With a sigh, he leaned over, quietly breaking the small trace he induced himself in, and reached for the nearby, only slightly cracked teapot that

Donatello had gotten him for Father's Day quite a few years ago.

Ah. It still held water. As the rat quietly poured the hot, steaming liquid into a small, handle less cup, he wordlessly scooped white lavender

Darjeeling tea in as well.

He stirred tentatively for a moment or so, then took a careful sip to avoid burning himself.

The rat sipped again, then sighed. It wasn't helping to settle his thoughts as he had hoped.

Slowly, he rose to his feet with a sigh, stretching slightly stiff muscles as he did so.

He had a headache.

Perhaps a walk outside would help....

* * *

~*~*~

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Walking stick clunked only slightly on the floors as the rat's footsteps echoed down the hall. He could faintly hear Mikey sleepily murmur to Klunk, just a few feet away....

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He paused, then sank down into an old hickory chair, a slight frown greeting his features.

Perhaps he himself ought to turn in fairly soon.

Still, his mind.....

Grey fingertips began to massage the aching rat's temples.

_Arrrggghhh._

What was the matter with him? It was most unsettling.

The rat's clawed fingertips found his forehead, and he bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes now squeezed shut.

He very rarely had visions. Excluding the occasions when his sons went to.....play, as it were, in the tunnels....and he had a moment or two of

peace before the time came to greet his sons home.

Then, he usually spent his time....watching soap operas or enjoyed spending a tranquil moment in deep meditation. With a better focusing ability, Splinter's range was fairly phenomenal-and surpassing that of many a human being.

Seeking a higher plane-that was not of his mind, or his body.....

....even that of the earth.....the rat drifted.

Drifted, but made sure never to entirely leave the shore.

~*~*~*~

It had just been yesterday afternoon when such an occasion arrived-and the rat was able to settle in as usual in the dojo.

And.....it had exploded into his vision.

_______

When had the tranquil plane shattered? He did not know.

But when Splinter had parted his eyes, feeling slightly uncertain of the drop in his stomach-he had looked around.

But there had been nothing to see. Not even his own fingertips in the **_darkdarkdark-_**

* * *

**His voice had been but a whisper as he called out into the darkness-and, in the air, there was no scent to be had.**

**Splinter's ears had pricked slightly, and he almost lost his footing. Natural agility and years of experience however, readily steadied him as he jerked his head around, a growl readying itself to tear from him.  
**

**"Wha-?"**

**~*~  
**

**That was when the laughing had begun.**

____

A pristine figure loomed over the stunned rat. Now exceedingly startled, he leapt back from the perfectly, intricately carved figures of the petite woman in the Victorian dress, a light scowl creasing his face.

Her midnight hair streamed from behind her. Gleaming-and well kept with a small, oriental comb at her side, the girl looked anything but a pleasant sight as she leered at the rat with a most distasteful expression upon her face-as if rather hoping someone could fetch a broom to rid the kitchen of a filthy little rodent.

As for her features, well....she would almost be called handsome, were it not for the hardened and slightly sneering expression on her face.

Her cheeks were well powdered-and dabbed lightly in a soft, rosy rouge. Her waist seemed to be cut from a marble structure into a thin epicenter that rather resembled a toothpick.

Her lilac dress flowed-as if she were readying herself for a ballroom event. In light silks and satins, it flowed primly behind her, like a well trained horde of dogs

Splinter glowered at her as she cast him a slightly sticky-sweet smile, and slowly moved a lacquered handkerchief that had been present in her petite, gloved hand to her lips. It was a most irritating, simpering look, and unwonted dislike flared inside the rat as she did so.

But better that then her voice. The rat was to discover this as she parted her lips to speak.

Her voice was worse. It had an awful, grating quality to it, and an unpleasant oily texture to boot-rather like metal long since decayed and covered with a generous degree of oil and grease:

"Well....finders-keepers, no?"

* * *

With that, the woman began to walk away, still smiling pleasantly as she did so. The rat was not at all sorry to see her go as he turned, sniffing the darkness with faint curiosity before hearing the woman's echoing footsteps stop.

After a slight pause, he turned around to face the lady once again.

That was when the rat noticed, for the first time, that, in her gloved hands, she held something other then a handkerchief. It looked rather like a stuffed....sock.

His onyx eyes narrowed.

A sock with what seemed to have tiny limbs, a torso, and a head.

~*~


	7. Dark Dream

The Broken Doll

Dark Dream

恐怖の夜! 破片のpremonition!

Gosh, it's been so long...please forgive me, everyone. Still working, still busy. ^^ I hope you enjoy this segment...

Please, take care, everyone. This is where things actually get interesting!

* * *

_Quote:_

_"Fair is foul, and foul is fair,_

_Hover through the fog, and filthy air!_

_By thy snapping of thine thumbs..._

_...something wicked this way comes..."_

A doll. Splinter stared at the small item, pounding heart beginning to slow ever so slightly in rapid beat equidistant to that of a hummingbird's wing flap. Just a small, cloth doll.

But this doll didn't look right. It looked like it had been crafted from cheap material; such as the cloth one would use to make for a sack. That itself wasn't disturbing at all, Splinter supposed, but something vibed a sense of error; as if he'd been listening to a favorite tuned played, as Michelangelo would put it, 'out of whack.'

Maybe it wasn't the doll at all. Maybe it had something to do with the living nightmare standing in from of him, cream skin turning a slippery, damp looking rust, as splashes or corrosion began to melt their way into the porcelain like skin, each one absorbing the other, spreading into one whole. Rosy cheeks made way for the all-present, all-consuming, rust.

Even as the woman smiled; a horrible, horrible smile that should have spoken of elegance and charming sweetness; her porcelain teeth looked razor sharp, and far too enormous for her mouth. Splinter's eyes narrowed as the teeth continued to grow, looking like shards of broken glass reflecting the endless cycle of mirrors surrounding them.

Long, flowing hair now seemed ragged; wretched. The lady stepped forward, ghastly smile still on her painted lips as she fingered the small doll with delicately gloved fingertips-that burst into view as the cloth quite literally exploded from her hands.

Eyes enormous, cold trickling inside of him, Splinter only numbly stepped back as the woman's disgusting, revolting hands grew slippery, filthy magenta red fingernails growing longer and longer, and sharper and sharper. They had grown to talons, each tip marked like that of a dagger's gilded edge, or a predatory cat's claw curl. It had only been finery and sweet-nothings covering an otherwise hideous display.

The woman's-was it a woman?-eyes grew narrower and narrower, and charming glass eyes melted into cold sabers. Still, she fondled the small, cloth doll, idly tossing it back and forth between her hands. Splinter had the strange urge to rip snatch it from out of her hands.

The little doll had light blond hair, a white dress becoming rather tattered as her claws scraped the tips of the end, and little hands that resembled nothing more then little stubs with fingers. It had no face.

Suddenly, the woman-she-devil moved the doll's face into its palm, and, swiveling it around again, Splinter was astonished to find the little cloth doll now had a small smile on its face. There was pink in its cheeks, and it had button eyes, and a small 'u' for a smile.

The woman's dress began to rip in the sleeves, dainty ribbons and sashes tearing as buttons from her cuffs burst off. The rat, immediately alert, reflexively moved into a fighting stance, but the woman seemed to regard him as little more then a sheer annoyance. She sneered at him, but only continued to mockingly play with the doll, making it dance as she moved its arms and legs...

* * *

The scene changed; Splinter stumbled; and found himself in a small clearing in the woods, in the dead of night. Extremely startled, the rat stumbled, then started as a light crackling sound began to be heard:

He spun around.

A young woman; adorned in finery and furs, a fine bonnet upon her head, was speaking into the mouth of a cave beside a small campfire. She held a small parcel in her hands-perhaps a purse, with something extending out of it. Splinter squinted to see what it was.

Red thread. In the other hand, there was a needle tightly clutched in a fat, gloved fist-obviously, the woman had no experience in sewing. Suddenly, a voice rasped, from in and out of the darkness; a voice that made Splinter's fur stand on end-

"Are you sure you wish to go through with this...?"

The woman spoke, briskly and irritated, in return, as if she were discussing the weather. Her voice had an unpleasant, nasal sort of matter to it.

"I am. I cannot have Lord Byron, now. He's nothing but a flea-ridden corpse, God save him."

Her voice was dispassionate; dismissed. And...did she sound a little mocking in her last statement? Once again, she took as little notice of Splinter as if the rat had suddenly transformed into yet another tree solemnly surrounding the dark clearing.

The woman began to speak again:

"I did try to tell him that Cynthia has no class, no refinement; but oh, no, he had to fall in love with her, of all things."

Her voice became as bitter as wormwood, and anger laced every word.

"My cousin...the _daughter of a painter_!" she seethed, eyes bulging as she clenched her fists even more tightly. "A filthy, stupid, poor girl with no class, born in a squalid hovel, oh, yes, the PERFECT choice for a lord who receives fifty-two pounds per annum-"

"You've told me this before," interrupted the voice, now sounding impatient. "You've made your case perfectly clear by now, Lydia. But I digress. Is it already done? I have already heard of the one who chooses to call himself 'lord's choice from you. He offered his hand and his heart to Cynthia."

"OR HIS PURSE!" she spat venomously. The voice in the grotto took no note.

"But ah, was that not what _you_ were seeking, dearest Lydia? After all, your father has squandered everything you own; your mother is the shame of your family for approving of Byron and Cynthia's wedding-your prospects were low."

The woman called Lydia had her voice drop to a more grudging, admitting pitch. Splinter had long since ducked behind an old oak tree to avoid being spotted, and now he had to strain to hear much of anything.

"Well...yes. But I," she said, patting herself affectionately on her chest. "_I_ could have passed for his wife, not just some...some poetry-reading harlot teacher from the _streets!_ Cynthia robbed my of MY birthright! I was to be on his arm; his estate was to become MINE! The way I forgave her-endured her, begrudged her for all those years was saintlike! I ought to be canonized for dealing with such poisonous vermin! I could only stand her so long!"

"Was that why you threw that engagement party for her? She was _so_ delighted that her cousin actually took a valid interest in her, and was cheered that you let her borrow one of your ballgowns. She always adored you as a child...perhaps that's why she took to following you about the streets?"

"I gave her her night of fun. I invited nobles. I ordered the finest cooks. In my father's estate. With her as my guest of honor."

"Tut-tut, dear Lydia. I was there; I remember. It was a masquerade...such a grand event. Cynthia was exquisitely lovely, you know. But Byron's eyes were only on her that night. And...if you will recall, he was the rather short fellow in the bird mask that never released her hand that night..."

Lydia seethed; the unknown entity chuckled in the gloom.

"...well, at least...not longer then for a moment or two. But a moment or two is all it takes, no?"

Something cold began to blossom in the center of Splinter's chest cavity. The rat's eyes narrowed as Lydia laughed, appeased.

"I really must thank you for thinking up such a marvelous idea. The poison I had would have killed her immediately; I should have been at fault. But yours...during the toast at the feast, well...I am surprised she didn't suspect anything."

"It was tasteless. She could not have known what her goblet contained."

The cold prickle went to an icy hush. Splinter froze, heart beginning to hammer as Lydia let out a girlish giggle.

"It was during the main course that she began to complain of a headache. Byron thought perhaps they'd been dancing too long. Oh, how I yearned for the sweet moment of triumph...would it never come? But at last, during the dessert palette, darling Cynthia happened to, ah...what was it, darling?"

"Why dearest, she choked on the blueberry crumble. It was entirely too delicious-anyone, particularly street vermin-would be inclined to take a hearty mouthful. She just...bit off more then she could chew."

"And started foaming and spluttering at the mouth. No one could make head or tails of it. Byron seized her; and began to perform Heimlich in the hopes that she would spit whatever that was plugging her windpipe out, but nothing came. The girl's eyes rolled back while I, being a gentle lady, fell backwards out of sheer terror in a swoon." Lydia's eyes flashed in the firelight; the treetops rustled as wind began to prickle over in an unpleasant gust. Lydia's fine, raven black hair began to swoop free of the lacy confines. Splinter could _hear_ the smile in her now singsong voice as she piped up unexpectedly:

"Darling, do you find any irony in the fact that the whole 'ring around the rosy ditty' was started by superstitious villagers attempting to ward off the Black Plague?"

The voice paused. Splinter peered from behind the tree as far as he dared, but he could see no one in the immense gloom of the cave, let alone why Lydia would not enter. At last:

"Alas, I do, odd that you mention it, dear Lydia. It was a spell to ward off evil-'ring around the rosy' means to dance around a 'fairy circle,' of sorts. 'A pocket full of posy,' well...Posy flowers were claimed to have the same properties and power of lavender springs nailed over doors." The man-for that voice could belong to no female-scoffed.

"Lunacy, in my opinion...'ashes, ashes...' that's all that's left of the 'holy flame, when there is nothing. And, my dear, when all is said and nothing more can be done...in Miss Cynthia's case..."

"Ashes, ashes, the vagrant pig drops dead."

* * *

Splinter withdrew slightly, heart pounding once again as he bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from making a noise.

This woman was a _murderer_. The rat took a step back, and then another, torn between what he was to do next. Did he wait, and listen for more? Or did he make a silent break for it?

Dark eyes glowered at Lydia's haughty form from the shadows, narrowing in abhorrent disgust.

She claimed to have killed her own cousin...and she was...laughing at it all. _Laughing!_

A raven let out a series of caws as it fluttered over the grove in a plumage of midnight wings. Master Splinter tensed, but the girl only waved the bird off, frowning before she resumed talking to the opening of the cave.

The pale moon had risen high overhead; it was late. But Lydia didn't seem to think the hour was too late to continue hearing herself talk.

"I was _so aggrieved_, you know. Mother and everyone felt so sorry for my agony over my favorite cousin's demise. People continued to send bottles of port and baskets of food and flowers of consolation for nigh on a fortnight after that. I was even charitable enough to throw Cynthia an expensive funeral, with a casket driven by Black River Orlov horses in a rented coach. It was for that people began to offer me invitations to dine and to go riding and driving once I had at last faintly retrieved myself from my unexceptionably passionate loss."

"So passionate were you that you nearly flew into a fury when Byron broke with grief over his fiancee's loss, and succumbed to cholera, am I correct?"

Lydia scowled. "He left no heir. And after I showered him with so much goodwill and lavished all my sympathies upon him; the fool man still died!"

"Ah...but that is the folly of love, my pet. It is your love that brings you, to this 'other place,' as you see fit to call my part-time dwelling."

The girl flashed a dazzling smile.

"Oh, of course, Jacques. You'd know I only love-"

"-what I have to offer you?" There was that laugh again; that laugh devoid of any mirth. It sounded merely forced, high-pitched, and maniacal. Lydia winced at it as Splinter drew away, claws digging into the bark. That laugh made his fur stand on end, it did...the man sounded..._insane _employing it!

But the laugh cut off very abruptly, to the rat's relief, as the man resumed speaking.

"You do not love me." The voice was amused, but there was definitely something pinched in its tone, now. "You need not flatter me, Lydia, much as I enjoy your company. After all, we have been...business associates in the past, have we not? You have given me what I wanted, and, in return, I aided you in slaughtering Cynthia. You have done what I have asked you to do three nights ago, and now, well...I come to repay the favor, once again. Only this time, you will still have to pay a price for this benefaction."

"I told you already, I don't mind-"

"-surrendering your own heart to become what you most crave? My dear girl, you will surrender a warm hundred years for a cold forever."

"I care not."

"Ah, but are you so sure? You have become quite popular with society; many men would throw themselves at your feet to wed you. You would have an estate, your father's debts repaid, and many children, should you so which. After all, is that not what you want...?"

Lydia scoffed as she sank down on a nearby log near the dying fire.

"It was, but no longer. I don't care what the effects will be."

"Your heart will be cut out. You will be a living doll, child. Never aging, never growing old."

"That is every woman's dream."

The voice laughed again, much to Splinter's discomfort. What in the world were they_ speaking_ of?

"I do not think so. For some, being a 'doll' would be nothing more or less then a living hell, pet."

Lydia frowned, hunched over by the fire's light flames. Sparks occasionally thrust themselves into the dark skyline.

"I am not one of those people. You have told me it promises immortality. And thus, I can heighten my beauty to forever." the girl preened. "I need only to find some duke or count to please me for awhile until I find some richer man to be seduced when I tire of the prior man's company."

"That is the definition of a leech, Miss Lydia."

For a moment, the girl looked annoyed, but then, she simply smirked.

"True enough. You have promised to do the ceremony, Jacques. I will seal myself inside of a...a..."

She faltered. 'Jacques' took over.

"...child's play toy? Yes, my dear girl. You must win a heart after yours is taken from you. With so many men-" here, his voice became rather sour. "You will have no trouble whatsoever of earning callous affections, but you must earn the love and adoration of a young girl before you will be free to ride eternity as a living, human doll. After all," the voice said, breaking the quiet alongside the snapping and crackling of the flames. "Young girls and dolls go hand in hand, right?"

Lydia just frowned. "Cynthia never liked dolls. She preferred stuffed animals."

"She was an animal herself. She very well must have related."

As Lydia laughed, she sighed, then stood up, stretching absentmindedly.

"I have the thread," she commented, glancing down at the spool and needle in her hands. "I'm ready whenever you are, Jacques."

A deep sigh.

"I knew you could not be deterred, and yet I still hoped...ah, well. You will be have to endure one hundred years alone in the Falsetto before a child will be locked inside you-by her own hand."

"How do you know?"

Master Splinter thought he heard another, rather twisted smile.

"I have taken...steps, to procure it, as it were. Upon your arrival, you must wait. Even when the child arrives...wait just awhile longer. You need no fear of starvation or age-everything is arranged. I suppose you will become lonely, however."

"I doubt that. I have no fear of such petty nonsense when I am supplied with anything I could ever need. My cup will always be full, according to you."

"But you will have no company."

"I will have plenty when I get my hands on that wretch's heart. Do I remove it, or...?"

"Not like that. She must GIVE her heart to you, rather like you are given yours to me. My advice is this: Make her happy. I have left plenty of books explaining what to do in the library, though I realize that you are hardly fond of reading. You will have something to do throughout the years; to configurate with spell and magickery as you will, little witch. Once you have the child, give her what you know she wants most, and cement it to her. Summon it from the true world, if you must."

A pause.

"If the girl wants a best friend, snatch a candidate after you find a worthy one with the spyglass receptor I left you. Use what I have taught you to wrap the child or animal or other wretched whatnot to the girl."

"What if I cannot bribe a brat to love her?"

Silence. A deep, resounding sigh from the cave.

"You cannot 'make' someone love anybody, my dear Lydia. That is the way of things. But I have learned this: When you love someone, you must never, ever let them out of your grasp. Bind them. Chain them. Let them cry out if they will-else, they _will _leave you. And you are the fool upon the slope, who holds nothing."

Intense bitterness entered his voice. Splinter pressed a hand over his mouth as he continued to listen.

Such idiocy. Jacques obviously had been left with an intense array of warped 'affection' in his own twisted heart. What else could it be?

Lydia was nodding, looking bored.

"Yes, yes, I understand. Once I'm done with the child, I can leave her with her new dresses or pets or whatnot. Then, I can cross over to the living world?"

"That you may. I will miss you, you know," Jacques said quickly.

Lydia only started, looking surprised, before a light frown came to her face. If anything, the murderer looked disconcerted.

"...thank you. Now..."

Her voice edged into a purr as she stepped forwards, eyes gleaming.

"...let us begin, shall we?"

"...yes. That we shall."

Splinter ducked under a tree bough, scowling as he stared directly into the mouth of the cave, nails digging into his fists.

Why was he seeing such things? What could it possibly mean? At best, Jacques seemed to be offering Lydia...immortality. But that was impossible! Wasn't it?

...wasn't it?

A pair of yellow eyes flashed at the shaking rat from the darkness; a scream-and darkness once again.

* * *

Splinter rubbed at his eyes with the back of his fist before he jumping up once again, surrounded by wave after endless wave of...

_Mirrors? _he thought, lost in bemusement for a moment as he hesitantly stepped forwards to the sea of glass.

One by one, large, small, cut in every intricate or hulking frame one could imagine, there they all were, perfectly omnipresent. Unnerved, Splinter stepped into a row-and seven thousand Hamato Splinters did the same, each obeying the slightest twitch of a whisker from the original.

This place had no beginning; and no end. They littered the darkness, but for some reason or another, the rat could see his reflection perfectly, even without the aid of his excellent vision. Light was coming from somewhere; but not from the mirrors. Where from, then?

Splinter halted, then turned to look directly at the mirrors. His own troubled, confused expression stared back at him, from thousands of mirrors, compact to ridiculously ornate.

At last, the rat stretched a hand out, and brushed the cool glass of a certain mirror with his palm; and a scream broke the silence.

Splinter jumped, breathing ragged, voice quite caught in his chest, as every image the mirrors of had of Splinter immediately turned onyx. But he paid no mind as he hurriedly looked around, attempting to locate the source of a scream that sounded as if it had come from every direction.

At last, his eyes alighted to a small speck of light, somewhere in the distance.

And what he saw made him nearly keel over with dread.

There was one mirror still visible; still clean and simple, and not corrupted. But what was struggling inside of it was far from simple, and far from assuring.

There, in the glass, only half of his body present, was Raphael. _But it wasn't Raphael at all!_

A startled gasp escaped from Splinter as he stepped forwards, mind blank.

It made no sense. Raphael was sixteen years of age, just like his brothers. ****

**_So how in the world was a six year old turtle currently clawing at the unseen ground below him, terror in his eyes?_**

Raph at last noticed that Splinter was staring at him, mouth open. The turtle swallowed, and then let out a soft cry of alarm as hands began to tug at the startled chibi, _pale, skeletal hands_-were fighting to drag the terrified child back into the mirror's depths.

"SPLINTA!" The red-clad turtle shouted, sounding close to hysterics as Splinter sprinted forwards. _"I-mmph-gghhmmppp!"_

A hand plastered itself over his mouth; Raph fought tooth and nail to remove it, seizing the offending hand by the wrist, successfully yanking it back from his jaw, even as he desperately fought for freedom.

"SPLINTA!" he screamed."MASTER SPLINTA! HELP ME! PLEASE!"

Raphael had not sounded so...vulnerable, so young, in such a long time. Splinter broke into a canter, but, to his astonishment and rapidly growing trepidation-

_He could not get any closer!_ Splinter frantically doubled his efforts.

Why, oh **why**, could the rat not run fast enough? His son needed him, his son was going to die otherwise-!

The little Raphael cried out, his arms extended-

Bad idea. The hands took advantage of this, and each one seized the frantically wriggling turtle, and began to drag him back into the glowing abyss of the mirror. Raph screamed again.

"I DON'T WANNA GO BACK! PLEASE! NO! SPLINTER! SPLINTER! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!"

He choked off. A hand seized him by the throat, another by the hand. And, just as Splinter was but feet away, Raph was dragged back inside, tears still running down his face.

The mirror too, went black.

* * *

Cold, numb, and shaking, Splinter came to an abrupt halt, chest heaving, stitches littering his chest, and a sickening sense of nausea overwhelming him. With a panicked gasp, the rat dashed over to the guilty mirror frame, and began to smash into it with as much vigor as he could muster, ignoring the pain his knuckles were omitting as he did so.

"Raphael! My son!"

Horrified, terrified, he shook at the frame, adrenaline pounding itself into his body, even as he pounded the frame, beginning to bleed ever so slightly.

"**RAPHAEL!**"

"It's no use."

At the unexpected voice, and having not sensed a presence, Splinter whipped around to face a small, violet clad turtle staring dully at him, as if he and his father were strangers in an elevator.

His body had shrunk...just like Raphael's.

Splinter staggered up, chest heaving as he made to grasp the turtle's shoulders, who only continued to stare at him unemotionally.

"Donatello! D-Donatello, what...what has happened to you and your-?"

He shook it off.

"Never mind that right now-my son, _someone, something_ has Raphael!"

Don did not look remotely disturbed about his brother's kidnapping. If anything, the turtle looked rather bored. But Splinter was now fighting his parental urge to full-out panic, and was hurrying on-

"Where are your brothers? Have they...become small, as well? Where are they? Why won't you speak, my son? Those creatures...do they have the-"

A spark of gold had caught Splinter's eyes, so brilliant that the rat had to use a palm to cover his brilliant dark eyes. He peered out from behind them-

And gasped once again, hands releasing Don's cold body as if the turtle would burn him.

Don's face curled into a smile; but it looked crooked, as if it'd been sewn on by a careless craftsman. His eyes were unfocused, and he looked...

...sick.

Something brilliant was flashing in his eyes, gleaming exponentially, like a small shard of glass. The turtle stepped forwards, eyes still caught in pain, but the twisted smile on his face, even while his limbs buckled and trembled beneath him.

At last, Don spoke, voice extremely shaky:

_"Start from the beginning."_

* * *

And Splinter woke up gasping, flesh underneath fur broken into a cold sweat.

* * *

Splinter's shaking hand poured the hot tea into the small cup, stream of boiling liquid trembling slightly. Shaking his head, Splinter grasped his trembling arm to steady it, then lowered the small teapot to the floor beside him as he took a small sip of tea. Feeling his muscles relax slightly, the rat took another sip, taking care not to burn himself.

That dream...he had not had one so disturbing in such a long time. Splinter lowered his mug, and fondled the warm clay beneath his fingertips.

That behemoth playing with a doll...that girl's execution of her cousin, and her willingness to become...some sort of heartless creature, more of one then she already was, gaunt eyes, a young Raphael being snatched away, a cursed Donatello that seemed barely conscious...

Eyes. Dolls. Mirror. Shard. Dark.

What did it mean? His temple throbbing, brow furrowed, Splinter got up with a sigh.

It was foolish, but he needed to see them, now. His sons were undoubtedly safe in their beds, but an urge twitching in his stomach was telling him otherwise. He needed to fetch an aspirin from the cabinet, anyway. It would only be counterproductive.

So thinking, Splinter left the room, not knowing that it would be the last he would be seeing it for a long, long time.


End file.
